


Check Hook

by cinereous



Category: Bully (Video Games)
Genre: Biting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:08:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28835376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinereous/pseuds/cinereous
Summary: For Bryce, everything was wrong. He was still working at the Golf and Yacht Club even as his time at Bullworth was drawing to a close. His future was uncertain, his present was miserable, and Gord was irritatingly charming.
Relationships: Bryce Montrose/Gord Vendome
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Check Hook

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Akzeriyyuth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akzeriyyuth/gifts).



  
Working at the Golf and Yacht Club was meant to be temporary. His father was a weak man, but not necessarily a stupid one. Bryce had held out hope with each passing month that he would get his act together, turn things around, amass a new fortune. Unlike that nitwit Tad, Bryce had no problem with being nouveau riche. He’d just take rich at this point.

The turn around never came. Months turned into a year. A year turned into two. Bryce now found himself preparing for graduation exhausted and elbow deep in dish water.

His father’s lessons always seemed to come in twos. Ironic given he had really taken to heart two of those lessons; that people only respect two things: money and influence, and that only liars and scoundrels make it to the top. 

Bryce had been doing nothing but lying since he turned fifteen it felt like, and he felt closer to the bottom than he had ever had before. His Aquaberry was faded from overwashing. The gold watch he wore every day had long since stopped working and shined dully. The soles of his Italian leather shoes were held together with super glue, and his last haircut was courtesy of one of the server girls here at the Golf and Yacht Club putting herself through beauty school.

Debt collectors called their house aggressively, day and night. His mother was barely home and neither was his father. What money his father did make went to keep the loan sharks at bay and to pay for his many, many vices meaning that most days Bryce made visits home to check in there was little more than sour milk and open bottles of wine in the refrigerator. 

Everything was wrong.   
  
There would be no university. No leaving Bullworth. Hell, there would likely be no leaving the Golf and Yacht Club.

It reminded him of that one Greek myth Galloway taught them...some guy stealing fire and being punished by having his liver eaten by an eagle every day for eternity. Though Bryce was still pissed given he’d not done anything to deserve this fate. He’d wanted to become a professional boxer, but more hours at work always took precedence as Crabblesnitch raised tuition every year without fail.

His shoulders slumped and Bryce angrily plunged his hands down beneath the water, shuddering anytime a particle of food touched his skin. He’d been working in this hell hole for two years. He should be _running_ it by now. He’d had talk after talk with his manager about moving up, promotion, moving away from the plebeian menial labor, but that bastard seemed to get a kick out of watching him suffer. 

He mowed lawns, washed dishes, and did the laundry. He even cleaned _toilets_. It was utterly humiliating and never ending, but necessary to keep up his lie. 

He scrubbed the last plate, wrinkling his nose at the remains of what he can only assume was ketchup and caviar, and doing his best not to lose the contents of his stomach at that abominational combination. He put it into the dishwasher with a flare of finality, slamming his still wet fingers against the button to start it and eagerly pulling the plug from the sink to let it drain with victory.

“Finally,” he growled out loud, movements too rough as he worked at the knot of his apron behind his back. Beside him a feminine giggle reached his ears, and Bryce glanced up to see Samantha stretching and yawning against the metal shelving unit full of pans and sacks of food ingredients. Her hair was a coppery gold this week, pinned into place just right to hide the streaks of pink she insisted on keeping there. 

Bryce had always thought her style choices were tacky, but since she was keeping him from looking like a hobo he had been doing his best to keep his temper and his tongue in check. She grinned for him, pulling off her own apron and tossing it onto the hook on the wall.

“I thought tonight was never going to fucking end,” she groaned, tugging her hair tie out with a wild bounce and tangle of frizzy curls. Even from here he could see that her nails were chipping and there was something like a toothpaste stain on her black shirt that had been hidden before. 

He put his own apron on the hook beside hers and nodded, leaning back too until his head banged against the metal shelf and rattled the contents. Behind his closed eyes he mentally ran through fighting moves, imagining the pull of his aching muscles and the rewarding crunch of his knuckles kept safe by gloves and tape. 

Bryce wished he could be at the gym right now. The sweat of taking his aggressions out on a punching bag felt so much more comforting than the layer of grime and sticky salt he sported now. He pushed himself off the shelf with a sigh and leaned down for his duffle bag stowed there underneath that held his uniform inside.

“Tell me about it. Eugh, go take a bath, Samantha. You smell like a dumpster,” he sneered, but cracked a grin at the end of it as he passed her by, taking the rough clip to his shoulder from her that he had earned and carrying on through to the employee restroom.

He’d never thought in a million years he would be the person who changed clothes in a dingy, disgusting bathroom with a perpetually stained mirror and lights that never seemed to get above a ‘horror movie climax’ shade of dull blue-white.

By the time he was back in Aquaberry, clocked out, and outside, Bryce felt something closer to normal. He breathed in the sea air with a faint hitch to his inhale, swallowing and calming down his nerves with the centering techniques his old kickboxing instructor had taught him. He fell into the movement of his arms slowly, creating the small diamond between his thumbs and index fingers, extending them up and back, bending his spine and letting that diamond kiss his forehead before falling back into the slump from before.

The air was thick tonight, the parking lot lit up hazy and orange under the streetlamps, and he could just make out the sounds of the water at the docks where all of the yachts were kept. His family still didn’t have a boat. They never would.

Almost as if mocking his thoughts, Bryce could hear the sultry thudding bass of music. His eyes slid out through the dim to see one of the yachts bedecked in strings of colored lights, shadows of people moving around inside and on the deck.

Of course. A party. He should have expected it really. It was the first truly warm day of the year, balmy from late April rain and promising more and more heat as summer approached. It was as he was turning away to head to the bus stop that his memory kicked into motion and Bryce’s insides ice over in an instant.

It was Gord’s birthday party. The other boy had come up to him while he was working at the boxing club and had handed him a pristine little invitation done in Aquaberry blue and gold. He’d noticed the date immediately and explained he had to work. The Golf and Yacht club _needed_ him, he was indispensable. The VP position there was coming up with his schooling coming to an end.

He hadn’t been expecting the actual disappointment on Gord’s face. It was difficult to believe that he truly wanted him there. Bryce was certain that the others in his clique knew about him and purposefully left him out. To even be invited to the party felt like an underhanded dig at him to the point Bryce had crankily dismissed Gord and gone back to his boxing.

It was amid those thoughts, his hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders hunched forward, that he heard Gord’s voice. 

“You came after all? I thought you had to work!”

Bryce turned very slowly to see Gord there, his arm outstretched towards the door of the Golf and Yacht Club. Outside of school he was not in his usual uniform. Instead, he wore fashionable, well fitted jeans and a white button down rolled up to the elbows and open at the throat. His hair was a little out of place and Bryce could see a faint sheen of sweat on his neck from the streetlamp.

He watched in horror as Gord pulled away from the door and changed course, hurrying over to him and meeting him just outside the radius of the light. Even in the dark he could make out the wideness of his eyes, glittering and bright and softer than normal.

Drunk probably if that flush to his cheeks was any indication. Wonderful. Just what he needed.

“I did work. I’m leaving,” Bryce snarled, his mood blackening. 

Gord didn’t seem to be particularly moved, slinking forward another step and flooding Bryce’s space with the subtle scent of his cologne. “Good! That’s great. Come join us at the party. I was requesting some clean up. Tad’s already had a bit too much and is _talking_ a lot. You can come save me. Be the sober person in the room full of idiots.”

Right now Bryce smelled like work and food and had an early boxing practice in the morning. Part of him wished that he could go to the gym right now and pound his fists into a punching bag until they bled. The fact that Gord was here talking to him like they were friends instead of convenient allies in the rich and well bred bubble was insulting. It made his teeth grit hard enough to hurt as he stared at the dark pinpricks of Gord’s eyes in front of him. For some reason, out of all of his so-called friends, Gord was the last person he wanted to see him right now.

That and the party was on Gord’s father’s yacht. Fuck Gord. Fuck his boat.

“I’m _tired_ ,” he managed to say through his teeth, mentally flailing around for a lie. “I’m leaving later than usual. The owner and I were going over some plans for the next meeting with the board of directors. Obviously, I’m tired and I was heading back to Harrington House to sleep.”

The words were grating and completely transparent, showing just how pissed off he was to be caught here when he was vulnerable and exhausted. Gord and his stupid birthday yacht party. Bryce just wanted to get away.

“I hope you have a wonderful birthday. Truly. I’m sorry I’m missing it. I’ve _really_ got to go.”

It was the best he could do, and Bryce moved to turn on his heel in the hopes of stomping off when he saw Gord’s eyes positively light up. His entire body language shifted, seeming to almost swell towards him in what he could only describe as pure delight.

“Oh, that’s _right_. You work here! I want to see where you work,” he gushed, his smile wide and sharp as he reached down and took Bryce’s hand without even asking. His hand was _hot_ and soft, but gripped his own with surprising strength. It also did nothing to lessen his complete bewilderment.

“Wha-...they- they lock up the office after close. I can’t,” he stumbled, blindly casting about for lies to keep Gord from seeing what this life looks like. “You know. It’s where the safe and documents are, so…”

Gord tipped his head back and _laughed_. The sound of it in the empty parking lot sent a shiver down his spine. It was loud and rich, bubbling up from deep in his chest and both beautiful and greatly unsettling for the hint of dark humor hiding in it. When he finally caught his breath, Gord tugged at their joined hands, walking backwards towards the door he had abandoned earlier.

“Come on, Montrose. We all know you’re not doing their books or Head of Hospitality or whatever else. It’s fine. I want to see where you _really_ work.”

Just like that, every hope he’d held close to his chest that they all were still clueless vanished. The way that Gord so dismissively cast aside his efforts at deceit with a laugh felt as sharp and chaotic as a shrapnel bomb underfoot.

And even amid his feelings of rage and betrayal and self-disgust, he was being pulled along inside. The cool chill of air conditioning and the manufactured scent of ‘sea breeze’ flooding his senses in direct juxtaposition to the saltier, thicker air outside.

No longer bathed in moonlight and sodium-vapor orange, he could see Gord far more starkly than before. His skin glistened and a brand new silver watch winked on his wrist. He hated it. What he didn’t hate was the angle of Gord’s body.

He was swiveled slightly, his arm stretched out behind him and causing his torso to be twisted aesthetically enough to show off the trim waist he sported these days. They’d all grown and aged over the years to the point it was easy to forget being in such close quarters all the time, but it was easier to notice when you were in crisis.

The problem was that Gord had gotten _handsome_. He’d grown into his awkward features in a way nobody had expected. The nose that had been too large for his face now seemed to fit perfectly and the harsher angle of his brows had been shaped and relaxed over time as if making an effort to match the sharpness of his cheekbones.

It wasn’t fair. Bryce felt like his face was practically the exact same as it had been since he turned fourteen. The same ovular face and soft sloped brows that made his eyes seem too far apart. He wasn’t ugly, but a part of him was genuinely pissed off that Gord hadn’t stayed awkward. He had thought it patently absurd that Gord had such good luck getting partners. Girls, guys, rich, poor...it didn’t seem to matter. They all loved him even when he’d still been coming into his looks.

Now...now he had everything, didn’t he? Looks. Money. Fashion sense. A boat.

And charm. That’s what made him so fucking hard to hate. He was charming. Gord could smile at him or wander by at the boxing club to just talk about _nothing_ and Bryce always stopped to listen. It didn’t matter if he chattered on about designer scarves or universities or the girl he’d made out with in the lighthouse, Bryce always listened because he couldn’t help himself.

Even now, uncomfortable, humiliated, angry, and begrudging, he found his eyes sliding up and down Gord’s body while he was pulled along. 

He was pissed off that Gord made him think about boys at all. As if he needed just one more thing to deal with. He needed to focus on work and moving up in the world. Dating wasn’t in the cards. He didn’t have time. He didn’t want someone so far above him.

So why was he taking initiative and opening the door to the back, now taking the lead and guiding Gord into the kitchen and dishwashing area he had triumphantly left not half an hour before?

It was likely just his imagination, but it felt dirtier than he’d left it. He was uncomfortably aware of the large stains on the ceiling, the rust on the sinks and equipment, the lingering smell of frying oil long overdue for a change. Like much of Bullworth, the Golf and Yacht Club looked expensive and posh on the outside, but behind closed doors, it was just as old and run down as everything else.

He chanced a glance over towards Gord to take in the expression of disgust he was sure he’d find there, but he was struck a little dumb to see excitement brimming in his eyes.

“Is this it?” he asked, voice positively giddy. He had never seen Gord like this, and before he could ask if he was high on top of intoxicated he felt the hand wrapped around his wrist yank. Gord eagerly snooped around, opening cabinets and doors and seeming to eye up the walk-in freezer for a long moment before he dramatically threw open the door to the broom closet. “Aha! Perfect!”

“Perfect?” Bryce parroted in bewilderment before he found himself unceremoniously shoved into the cramped, dark space with surprising force. He clattered back against the handles of brooms and mops, his feet tangled up in the water hose, the mop bucket going skidding across the floor.

What the fuck!?

For a terrible moment Bryce was positive that Gord was going to lock him inside here as some kind of cruel punishment for thinking he was good enough to be in Harrington House with the rest of them. Part of him couldn’t help but feel like he’d deserve it for the years of bragging and lying.

Instead, Gord actually _giggled_ as he leapt inside the tiny closet too, pulling the door shut behind him and plunging them both into darkness.

The world condensed sharply around him. His nose filled with the muddy scent of wet mop, the sharp bite of commercial grade cleaners, and the softer, warmer, spicier scent that was most definitely Gord’s cologne.

“Gord, what are we doin-”

He wasn’t able to finish his thought before hot lips suddenly pressed against his own, hard and rough and too eager. The cold taste of fruity cocktails flooded his senses and oh, had Gord’s hands always been so _big_ and so hot? The feeling of them burning through the front of his shirt as he was kissed with so much passion had him dizzy and lost.

For such a polished boy obsessed with nice clothes and exfoliating and manicures...he was muscular. He’d watched these same hands curl into fists and slam into the jaws of greasers and the unwashed masses when they chose to lower themselves to fighting in the streets. Fuck, how had he never noticed?

He pried himself back, head banging against the plaster. It was impossible to see him in the dark, but the hot breath melting against his lips was somehow the sexiest thing he’d ever experienced in his young life. Everything was happening so fast. How had he even gotten here? 

“This is so dirty!” Gord whispered in the dark, his voice throatier than before and positively giddy. The gravel of it sent shivers down Bryce’s spine, and he hated that even his toes curled in his shoes. Gord was so weird, but he liked him more than he should. And that kiss.

He swallowed thickly in the dark and could feel Gord’s hair tickling at his nose. Nerves swirled through his stomach even as he inhaled the scent of his shampoo and tried not to make it too obvious. Was it just his imagination that it was making him feel dizzy?

“There is something _seriously_ wrong with you,” he murmured, a little bite to his words because he felt like he was being made fun of, being herded forward into some humiliation. Even so, Bryce went still with shocked embarrassment the next second, realizing how rude that sounded.

Bryce didn’t mean to insult him. The words were past his lips before he could stop them. The reflex of lashing out at anyone who made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin was a strong one. It was second nature by now, spitting acid and venom in the hopes of hiding his tender underbelly and the deceit he weaved day in and day out. It was the only weapon he had as a snake.

But the sound Gord made in response was practically a purr, deep and sensual and hungry. The sound went straight to his groin, and Bryce had no choice but to throw his misgivings out the window along with his pride for just this one moment. Everything was wrong in his life and he just wanted this. Wanted a taste of the person who didn’t bite back but thrilled in his aggression. Just this. Just once. He groped in the dark until his dishwater dry fingers found soft hair, gripping it too tightly and using it to haul Gord back in for a second kiss.

This time around, Bryce didn’t hold back.

Humid, fruity breath turned his mind to fog in a second. His common sense was drowned in pineapple and cranberry and vodka. He couldn’t help the moan that left him as the shorter boy practically tried to climb him like a tree to return the kiss deeper, wetter, more enthusiastically messy. The tiny broom closet became hot like a sweltering jungle in seconds, sending waves of itching sweat under his clothes.

Gord was a force to be reckoned with. Bryce had his fair share of kisses, girls and boys alike, but none of them were like _this_. None of them could measure up to the raw eagerness and finesse that the other boy exuded like a weapon. He could feel his armor cracking underneath the onslaught.

“Mmm, do you have any idea how often I stood around that boring boxing club just to watch you?” Gord babbled between kisses, his words spilling across Bryce’s lips with painful familiarity, like he had no idea how tight his words made his chest feel. “You get so _into_ it. Never thought I’d be jealous of a punching bag.”

It was a stupid thing to say. Of course Gord wasn’t actually jealous of the punching bag. Bryce knew in his bones that Gord was just telling him what he wanted to hear right now. It was hard to even feel upset about the fact too when his brain was clouded with lust. Gord just had a way of making someone feel like the center of the universe when he turned on the charm, and it disgusted him just how easily he was falling for it.

A knee plunged between his legs and lifted, confident and demanding and applying practiced, precise pressure. Bryce found himself grinding down against it without so much as a thought, his eyes burning into the darkness for a glimpse of the boy who was tearing him apart one panting breath at a time.

“You saying you want me to punch you?” he questioned back, his own voice sounding thin and breathless to his own ears. The handle of a mop was digging into his back and it was hard to stay standing with the tangle of their limbs and all the cleaning supplies on the floor, but every erratic beat of his heart was screaming for him to stay, to give in, to take, damn the consequences.

The knee between his legs became more insistent, and Bryce moaned out loud when hot wetness bloomed against his neck followed by the blunt, exquisite drag of teeth. His hips bucked wildly and Bryce clenched his fingers harder into Gord’s hair and the back of his shirt as if it was the only thing keeping him standing.

“Hardly. I’m saying I want to be the center of all of that raging intensity. Let me have it.”

The dark of the closet pulsed red, and Bryce’s whole body set fire. He slammed forward from the wall, almost tripping, but staying on his feet as he shoved Gord into the one opposite. The heavy thud of his body against it egged him on further, his hands blindly starting to work at the buttons of Gord’s shirt as he kissed him so hard their teeth clacked together.

This time it was Gord that moaned into the kiss, the vibration of it rattling down his spine and sending swirls of heat low in his belly. Bryce had never really understood what made his classmates and friends go out of their way to skip classes or sneak around just to makeout, but he was starting to understand now. 

He was taller than Gord by several inches, but he barely even felt the hunch of his spine to accommodate. His mind was full of nothing but the slick glide of their tongues and the ever present sensation of Gord’s teeth nipping, biting, grazing, tugging at his lower lip like he was trying to eat him alive. He’d never truly felt like an object of lust until this moment, and Bryce very quickly decided that he liked it.

With a sound of victory drowned against Gord’s mouth, Bryce finished unbuttoning the other boy’s shirt. He shoved it back and dove down, curiously kissing at the exposed skin of his neck while his hands dragged reverently down his chest and sides. He tasted like sweat, the heat of his skin burning at his lips.

That was when he felt it, a hand suddenly and confidently pressing against the front of his jeans and squeezing. The pleasure and abruptness of the touch shocked him enough he bit down hard into the soft, warm skin under his mouth, his hips jerking into the touch on impulse. Vibrant heat and color swarmed him, and he could just barely hear Gord’s small yelp through the blood rushing in his ears.

“Oh my god, you are a _brute_. That hurt,” Gord chuckled above him, his body oddly boneless in his arms. Bryce could feel the hand on his jeans squeeze that much harder, and another delightfully hot hand scratched through his hair. The scrape of nails sent shivers down his spine

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasped, dizzy with the lust now pulsing through him. He was so hard it hurt. His mind and his body were at war. He wanted to distance himself, stay calm and rational to avoid being humiliated, but his body wanted nothing more than to shamelessly rut against the willing, hard body in front of him. He wanted those hands on him, wrapped around him, that mouth, those teeth...he wanted to feel those sultry chuckles against cock. It would feel so good to tower over him and take, just once.

His imagination painted a picture for him, far away from this disgusting broom closet, of a well lit office and a gleaming wood desk. It was easy to picture Gord on his knees between his legs, his mouth wet and red, the gold of an expensive wristwatch sending little fractals of light against his skin.

The sound of a zipper in the panting silence made Bryce gasp. The pressure against his arousal lessened, and fingers that were not his own reached inside to cup the shape of him through his underwear with mind melting heat and subtle strength. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before.

Bryce swore into the bite mark on Gord’s neck, bucking wildly into his hand. He could feel his own shirt being shoved up with little grace, too impatient and one handed, baring his skin to the muggy air before Gord began to plant blazing kisses along his chest.

This was insane. Everything was too fast, and he felt like his chance to slow things down and make any sense of the situation had disappeared the second Gord had been brave enough to touch him. He had unlocked the floodgates, and Bryce felt every inch a torrential tidal wave.

He jerked his hands down, fumbling and shaking as he practically ripped at Gord’s fly. He could feel his arousal straining against the fabric and begging for his touch. It was heady and powerful. For the first time since this entire encounter started, Bryce felt in control. It felt _good_.

Without a thought he yanked down hard on Gord’s jeans, peeling away the underwear beneath along with it. In the dark he couldn’t see him, but didn’t matter. He could _feel_ him. The sweltering heat that he exuded seemed to skyrocket, and Bryce felt dizzy and lightheaded as he wrapped his fingers around another boy for the first time.

The delicate skin was blisteringly hot against his palm. The angle was all wrong, but it felt so much like his own cock in his hand that it made it all too easy to give a few experimental glides of his fist. The sound Gord made was _obscene._

He sounded like a porn star, aching syllables drowned in growls and a dripping moan. He stirred something in Bryce that was almost frightening, enticing him to tighten his hand and repeat the action while his senses were full to brim with pineapple and Armani.

“Fuck _me_ , I knew your hands would be this good,” Gord babbled. Bryce could feel the tip of his upturned nose along his jawline, perfectly manicured nails raking down his back, but all he could seem to truly focus on was the fact that Gord apparently fantasized about him, had wanted him before today.

It made him want to preen. His hands were practically registered weapons, and suddenly all he wanted in the world was to absolutely _destroy_ Gord Vendome with them.

Bryce smirked and tightened his grip, pumping his fist faster and along the length of him and buried his face into his neck again to kiss and viciously drag his teeth against the spot where he knew a bruise was forming. There was something so satisfying about knowing he was leaving a mark on him.

It didn’t matter that Gord had designer clothes, a nice car, or a yacht. In this one moment, he was beneath _him_ , buried beneath the pleasure he could give him, and nothing could change that. His teeth marks had left a reminder on his skin that he would see in the mirror and have to hide in his shirt collars.

Gord squirmed against him, stuck between his body and the wall. He was a flurry of movement, from the constant rolling of his hips to his hands that skated on every available inch of him. Gord had always been a tactile sort. He remembered going shopping with him once when they were younger, and he’d watched Gord run his fingers along every piece of clothing and caress every price tag. Being the object of such attentive touch left him desperately hopeful that he was found worthy.

It was the muddled, desperate little ‘more’ that truly undid him though. Gord was reduced to single syllable words, his entire body _shuddering_ against his own with every new shift of Bryce’s fist. He tasted like salt, and every kiss was messy and too open, full of heavy breathing and whispered pleas and swear words. He’d never seen Gord like this, never seen him so far from well put together and haughty.

He was ravenous and greedy and far, far too open. He was trusting and vulnerable and Bryce _loved_ every second of it. He frantically kissed up the strong column of his neck and up to his ear, breathing there and letting his breath melt against the delicate ridges there before snaking his tongue out against the lobe. The frenzied inhale from the shorter boy was as intoxicating as any cocktail, and Bryce eagerly latched his teeth against the tender skin to the sound of Gord crying out and ‘thumping’ against the wall a little too aggressively like he’d lost control of his movements.

Fuck, it felt good.

His hand was a blur in the darkness as he kept piling pleasure on him, more and more and more, a steel-lined determination building up his spine that he’d only ever felt while inside a boxing ring. Gord was never going to look down on him again. Gord was never going to feel this good with anyone else. He was going to make sure of it.

Just like that, as if reading his mind, Gord’s body went taut and bowed. His hips jerked up into his grasp and Bryce felt the hot splash of his orgasm as it spilled around his clenched fingers. Every part of the other boy’s body was straining towards him, arched and needy. For the first time, Bryce desperately wished that the light was on so that he could see him stretched, flushed, glistening, and begging just for him.

He helped him ride it out slowly, gently squeezing and drawing out the aftershocks until at long last he let him go. Gord practically seemed to deflate against him, curling his arms around his shoulders and forcing his head into the crook of Bryce’s neck in a demanding way. 

And Bryce just held him, keeping him on his feet and silently worried he might have gone too far. He was still painfully aroused, but not at all willing to give up his pride to ask for help. He just grit his teeth and bore it, giving Gord the time to recover from the shaking weakness of his knees.

“Well _done_. I can’t feel my toes,” he gasped, sounding charmingly thrilled and exhausted. Something about that flirtatious, sweetly tired tone went straight to his cock, and Bryce swallowed hard to avoid making a fool of himself.

He liked that he made him sound so loopy and sweet. It was weird. He shouldn’t.

Gord’s laughter was even deeper than before and sounded like melted chocolate in his ear, his hot breath ruffling his hair a bit. Arousal shockwaved through him harder, and Bryce began to pry himself away, suddenly feeling like maybe he should leave.

He didn’t even get one step before a hand was shoving into his chest and pushing him against the wall. It was just like earlier when Gord had dragged him inside this closet, but this time around he could feel the other boy’s body move in a rush of displaced air and the faint crack of his knees. He had just...he was _kneeling._

“Ew. The floor is sticky. That is revolting,” Gord piped up, his voice most _definitely_ coming from below him. There was no way that Gord ‘I own a boat’ Vendome was on his knees in a filthy broom closet right now and mirroring his dirty little fantasy.

Even though he was anticipating it, even though he was practically vibrating with nervous energy, the first molten slither of Gord’s tongue against his skin was like an electric shock. He jumped wildly, the wall chilly against the small of his back and his elbow banging painfully against the nearby shelving amid another sultry chuckle, only this time he could _feel_ the breath blooming against his cock.

“Oooh, sensitive? I _like_ it.”

He was so weird. He was weird and over-the-top and so vibrant that Bryce fancied he could even see him in the darkness.

The next moment wet heat enveloped him and Bryce’s entire world dissolved around him. It was wet and hot and good and _good_. Words failed him, tumbling into the void, and his toes curled so hard in his shoes that he was vaguely terrified he would pull a muscle. And there was _suction_ and the tiniest little sordid sounds and every brazen moan that Gord made tumbled up the length of him and sizzled like acid at the base of his spine. His body was moving in ways he couldn’t seem to stop, and Bryce’s fingers were tight as wire in Gord’s hair. A distant voice in his head screamed that he hoped he wasn’t hurting him, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it as he rocked his hips and dug the back of his head hard enough to hurt into the wall at his back.

Every nerve ending in his body was on fire. He was burning up, sweating through his clothes, and it was only the way he bit viciously down on his lower lip that kept him from begging and saying nonsense just like Gord had.

He was terrified what would tumble out of him in this moment when every lie and false pretense and layer of polite distance was stripped away to leave him raw and ugly.

Orgasm hit him like a truck. There was no warning. His pleasure built up too fast and too intensely for him to possibly be prepared. He turned his head to the side to feel the cool, textured plaster against his cheek as his body let go, spilling into the hot, wet comfort surrounding him. He shook and struggled to remain standing, locking his knees and realizing too late that he was biting savagely into his knuckles to keep from shouting his pleasure for the whole world to hear.

Every inch of his body felt hollow, scooped out and burned to cinders. All that was left were the fireworks still cascading lazily along his skin and a deep, primal glow in the core of his chest. Fuck, he was tired.

Bryce slumped against the wall and frantically gasped for air, feeling reality start to gently crystallize back into being around him. 

Blaring light filled the space and caused him to squint and blink against it, but he could now see Gord crouched before him, his handsome face now lit up under the bluish light of his cell phone screen. His lips were damp, bruised, and dark looking, and his hair was an absolute mess, but he was smiling.

Even in the limited, stark light Bryce could see the wicked bite mark he’d left on his shoulder. It looked painful and also sexier than he would care to admit. He was suddenly terribly grateful that he’d just orgasmed, because he was positive one look at it would have gotten him aroused in a second.

It felt like a dream to watch Gord slowly move a stand, pulling at Bryce’s jeans as he went. He put his still lit up phone on the top of an overturned bucket, and in the light of it Gord righted their clothing. He moved with grace and fussy ease, buttoning and zipping and smoothing out wrinkles. He looked....he looked happy. And calm.

As he finished up the last of his own shirt buttons, Gord flashed Bryce a smile. It was flirtatious and filled with steam, sending an entire swarm of butterflies through his system that fluttered and tickled and left him feeling more off balance than even the sex had.

“Listen,” Gord began, shifting into his space again until they were almost nose to nose, but his voice was far too casual for such intimate quarters. “After we graduate why don’t you come see me? One of my father’s interns is moving away for school. I’ll be working there when my coursework will allow it and...well, it’d be nice to have something pretty to look at while I’m there.”

What?

Bryce blinked like an idiot, his hands on Gord’s waist twitching and suddenly unsure if they should be resting there at all. Did he just…? 

“I don’t need your handouts!” Bryce hissed, taking his hands away now, but he’s got nowhere to go when Gord had him so thoroughly trapped. What was this? Some kind of joke? Did he drag him into this whole thing just to grind him under his shoe all the more thoroughly? Was this just-

Gord gave a delicate little snort, and Bryce could feel the tiny hitch of his chest from the sound against his own.

“That’s good, because I’m not giving you one. Obviously. You still have to interview. As incredibly sexy as it is to imagine you here washing dishes...you’re one of us. The others have moved on because their bright and sparkling futures await them. Their daddies are bringing them into the fold and teaching them how to kiss ass while they flunk out of college, but you and I aren’t in that position.”

O-oh.

Gord smiled again. It was a crooked, sharp little thing that sent another tendril of want spiraling through him. It made him want to do something stupid. It made him forget to be offended. It was enough that Gord could continue.

“It’d be nice to have someone who will work hard with me. Someone who actually knows what work looks like and wants to do it. And someone who will fuck me in the mailroom.”

Bryce’s jaw dropped to the floor, but the next moment he was falling into laughter. Of course. Gord was a phenomenally self-centered person, but what he said was all true. The others would never understand what a day of hard work looked like. Even Gord didn’t really. They were still living in different worlds at this very moment, but Gord’s future depended on his ability to do well in school and prove himself if he wanted to become a lawyer. Out of everyone in Harrington House Gord _got it._

His chest felt too tight and his face hurt, but he realized with a start that he couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed like this. Every particle of his body was thrumming, and it was made all the better to feel Gord lift up on his toes and press a single kiss to his lips.

“Then...yes. I’ll do it.”

The lessons and advice from his father always seemed to come in twos. Today he learned that Gord was different from the others. He understood. He maybe even cared. He was willing to put himself out there for him and invite him in more ways than one.

He supposed that meant what lesson he learned was to trust Gord, but he felt like there was something he was missing.

Gord shifted away from him then, idly tossing his hair and reaching for the doorknob, signalling the end of their scandalous little moment hidden away from the world. He looked gorgeous and intriguing, and for a split second Bryce couldn’t help but be reminded of how Gord said he wished he could be the center of all of his intensity like the punching bags he practiced on.

It was terrifying to realize that he might have gotten his way through sheer force of will and personality.

“Oh, there is one thing though,” Gord said with a smirk and a salacious wink over his shoulder, “You still owe me a birthday present. And for my birthday I want to buy _you_ a suit. So show up at the yacht tomorrow morning and wake me up. If you don’t show up, I will track you down. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a party to get back to before I’m missed.”

Bryce watched him go with a puzzled expression of disbelief on his face, but after a moment of silence in the dark of the broom closet he was grinning and shaking his head.

He thought that he maybe knew what the second lesson of the night was now.

Some people around him didn’t view him as only money or influence.

And there was no arguing with Gord Vendome.


End file.
